


Fireworks

by searchthemindpalace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 4th of July, Fluff, M/M, Pining, hints at Clintasha, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchthemindpalace/pseuds/searchthemindpalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, today is actually your birthday? Today? The 4th of July? The most American day of the year? Seriously?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just like pure fluff with the tiniest sprinkling of pining-induced angst. Also super cheesy.
> 
> You know what's song is perfect to listen to while you read this? ["Fireworks" by Plain White T's.](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/plainwhitets/fireworks.html) Hint hint.
> 
> Also, this is an un-beta'd work, so all mistakes are mine! Happy Steve Rogers' Birthday Day! (Or 4th of July. Whatever.)

Avengers Tower slowly wakens. It has been a few days since their last mission (hive-mind cyborgs rebelling against their maker, world domination, yada yada the usual, as Tony had put it in his report), and the team is grateful to have a quiet “holiday weekend”, per Fury’s request-slash-demand.

 

Unfortunately, “quiet” lasts until 10AM.

 

“Wait, today is _actually_ your birthday? Today? The 4 th of July? The most American day of the year? _Seriously?_ ”

 

Steve sends Tony a withering look from across the table and lets out a sigh.

 

“Thanks a lot, Sam.”

 

Sam puts down his fork and knife and lifts his hands in a placating gesture. The barely stifled grin on his face betrays his guilt.

 

“Dude, come on, I didn’t know he didn’t know! It’s on the _Internet_.”

 

“For the record, the only person’s birthday I care enough about to remember is Pepper’s, and that’s because I have a genuine fear of her.”

 

Pepper continues to click away on her tablet with one hand and lifts a cup of coffee to her lips with the other. The smile on her face speaks volumes.

 

“So, how old are you now, Cap? 90?” Clint asks around a mouthful of toast. Natasha clucks her tongue at his manners.

 

“Um, I’m actually technically 96, to be exact? Counting in ice time, I guess,” Steve replies, fiddling with the napkin next to his plate.

 

“That’s a pretty hefty milestone, gramps. I thought people stopped keeping track after 50,” Tony says. Steve shrugs, letting the jab pass.

 

“Back in the day, I didn’t think I’d live to see past 25, so keeping track never seemed important to me. And then I joined the Army and, well, the rest is literally history. I had too many birthdays under the water to catch up on.”

 

An awkward silence descends upon the table. Clint slaps a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Hey man, we get it. You’ve been through a lot. We _all_ have. But that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate once in a while.”

 

At the word _celebrate_ , an idea comes to life in Tony’s eyes. Natasha groans.

 

“I think you picked the word of the day, Barton.”

 

A creak in the hall makes everyone look up from the conversation, and a still sleep-rumpled Bucky pads into the dining area, picks up an apple and plonks himself in the chair next to Steve. He lightly punches the blond in the shoulder, a grin on his scruffy face.

 

“Happy birthday, punk.”

 

Steve smiles, relief washing through him. It has been six months since Steve and Sam found a half-recovered Bucky in Eastern Europe and two months since the newly-rebuilt S.H.I.E.L.D. declared him fit to return to duty, if he’d wanted. Steve was there through Bucky’s mental reconstruction, and while the dark-haired man isn’t the same person Steve knew before the war—or even during the war—they have fallen into a routine where the good days finally outnumber the bad days. Hearing Bucky say those words in an accent that almost sounds like his old Brooklyn lilt puts him at bit more at ease.

 

Well, as at ease as one can be when Tony is spouting off plans for “the biggest birthday celebration since the 4th of July was _invented_ , and you’re using your senior discount for _everything_ today, Rogers, don’t think I won’t make you abuse that privilege”.

 

Steve knocks his shoulder into Bucky’s and smirks.

 

“96 years old and you’re still a jerk,” he says.

 

“What can I say, old habits die hard,” Bucky replies.

 

Steve’s grin is a fond one.

 

“Yeah, I guess they do.”

 

-

 

“Steven Grant Rogers, you get offa that damn couch right now! You can’t lay around here on your birthday, for fuck’s sake!” Bucky says as he bursts through the front door of their shared apartment.

 

Steve looks up from his lazy doodling to stare up at his best friend. There’s still dirt on his face from one of his countless odd-jobs he does to keep him and Steve on their feet, but his blue eyes are crinkled with the smile on his face. The window across the room is flung as open as possible, and a breeze blows in the July heat of a typical Brooklyn summer.

 

“Whatcha thinkin’, Buck?” Steve asks, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

 

“I’m thinkin’ Coney Island! Nathan’s, rides, and I heard they’re gonna have _fireworks_ this year,” Bucky answers, pulling his dirty work shirt over his head on his way to their shower. Steve clears his throat, looking away as discreetly as possible and hoping the heat on his face is from the sun.

 

“You think they’ll let me back on the boardwalk after puking all over it last time?”

 

Bucky snorts and toes off his work boots.

 

“What’s the chance they’ll remember that? Everyone pukes on that ride.”

 

“That’s what you said when it happened, and it still don’t make me feel any better about it.”

 

Bucky comes back around to the couch and claps a hand down on Steve’s thin shoulder. Steve feels the heat radiating through his thin shirt and into his skin.

 

“Come on, Steve. Let’s go have some fun for once. I got a bit of extra money left over from last month so we can go play some of those dumb games they got set up on the ‘walk.”

 

Bucky removes his hand and goes back to making his way to the shower, a smirk on his face.

 

“Maybe I’ll even win you somethin’,” he continues.

 

Steve chucks his pencil at him in response, and Bucky disappears behind the door with a laugh.

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t suppress the tendril of happiness weaving through him.

 

*

 

Steve doesn’t get sick this time around. He does, however, bicker with the bored-looking teenager running the photo-shooting game when it’s clear the whole thing is rigged, and Bucky nearly has to drag the blond away by the back of his pants with a “Seriously, Steve, I’d like to finish your birthday without havin’ to wash the blood outta your good shirt _again_.”

 

The sun’s set, and the two boys are sitting by themselves in the warm sand as blue and red fireworks light up the darkened sky. They can hear people on the boardwalk _ooh_ -ing and _aah_ -ing over the colors and laughing as they explode and _bang_ over their heads.

 

“Thanks for today, Buck. I’m sorry you wasted your money on that dumb game,” Steve says. Bucky throws an arm across the smaller boy’s shoulder and shakes him a bit.

 

“Aw, come on now, forget about him. It was worth it, even if you almost got a black eye over it,” he replies, chuckling.

 

Bucky reaches into the pocket of his pants with his other hand and pulls out a small package, simply wrapped in brown paper and string. He holds it out to Steve, who takes it with a sad smile.

 

“Buck, you didn’t have to—“

 

“Shut up and open it, punk,” Bucky says, cutting him off with a fond grin. Steve chuckles and unwraps it. His eyes go wide as his gaze falls on what’s inside.

 

Made of thin but sturdy leather— _leather_ , so not inexpensive, Steve thinks—and light in his hands is the drawing pencil case Steve had his eyes on in the corner art store for the last six months. After having to carry his pencils in his pockets with nothing to protect them and having a countless number of them snap into useless pieces over the years, Steve had imagined being able to keep them in something more fitting. Steve looks at Bucky in with a mix of disbelief, worry and overwhelming joy.

 

“Bucky…this is so much. I know how much this was. You coulda saved that money for something more important,” Steve says.

 

“There ain’t nothin’ more important to me than you, Steve,” Bucky replies, his voice all of a sudden soft and earnest.

 

Steve has zero time to even _think_ of an answer before Bucky is pressing his lips to Steve’s in a fleeting kiss, and the fireworks above his head can’t even begin to compare to the ones that explode in his brain.

 

They break apart before anyone could possibly see, but they end up tangling their fingers together in the sand, and their smiles light up the dark.

 

-

 

“Stark, did you have to go and buy every firework in New York City?” Clint asks, eying the collection of combustibles taking up space in the living room.

 

“Please, Legolas, that’s a bit much, even for me.  This is just what I could find in Manhattan. No need to overextend ourselves.”

 

Sam stifles a laugh from his spot in a chair, eyes fixated on the giant television screen currently broadcasting the International Hot Dog Eating Contest. Bucky leans on the back of the chair, watching with a grossed out yet impressed look on his face as Joey Chestnut shoves franks in his mouth at his typically alarming speed.

 

“I can’t believe this is a thing now. You can’t even taste ‘em when you stuff ‘em in like that, I bet,” Bucky comments, wrinkling his nose.

 

“I don’t think tasting them is the point, man,” Sam answers, shaking his head.

 

Steve leans on the counter next to Natasha and watches over the people he’s begun to consider his new (and very, very strange) family and smiles affectionately. His eyes subconsciously slide over to Bucky and he lets out a small sigh.

 

“When do you think you’re gonna tell him you’re in love with him?” Natasha asks, her voice low in a conspiratorial tone. Steve splutters a bit at her bluntness, but recovers before anyone notices. He casts his gaze downward, a furrow appearing in his brow.

 

“I…I don’t wanna rush him, you know. He hasn’t mentioned it at all, and I just…,” he trails off. “I just don’t wanna make him try to accept something that may not be there for him anymore.”

 

Natasha notices that Bucky looks over at Steve while he’s distracted in his thoughts, only to quickly turn his attention back to the TV when Steve looks up.

 

She rolls her eyes. _Men_ , she thinks. They’ll figure it out eventually.

 

-

 

They all end up on the roof of the tower that night. There are (perfectly legal) fireworks displays happening all around the city, but this is Tony Stark and Steve Rogers is his _friend_ and damn it if Captain Spangles isn’t going to celebrate his birthday right, then screw the city, he’ll do it _himself._ Pepper just makes sure Jarvis’ emergency protocols are functioning before sitting back to enjoy herself.

 

Natasha and Clint sit close together on a couch, and while they seem at ease, there’s an aura about them that clearly says _say anything and you get a firecracker in your boot tomorrow_. Sam and Pepper are chitchatting near the edge of the roof, keeping close eyes on Tony as he fiddles with whatever program he’s set up to light up the fireworks. Steve and Bucky relax on a separate sofa, and Bucky’s got his arm slung across the back of it. Steve tries not to lean into his friend’s side out of habit.

 

“You guys ready for a show?” Tony asks, holding up a remote with his thumb hovering over a button labelled _START_. Everyone cheers, and he presses it. The sky above them lights up in a blinding fashion. The fireworks _bang bang bang_ above their heads. Steve can’t contain his smile.

 

Suddenly, he feels a tension in the arm behind him, and it disappears. Steve turns to see Bucky holding his head in his hands, his shoulders bunched together. A cold wave runs through Steve. It had been two weeks since Bucky’s last episode, and he had been able to handle it so well, and Steve’s silently cursing himself because these fireworks are _loud_ and God knows what it could be reminding Bucky of and—

 

“Fireworks,” Bucky finally croaks out, and Steve immediately begins to apologize.

 

“Hey, Buck, I’m right here. I’m sorry, I should have thought about how loud these things were, I’m sorry—“

 

“We saw fireworks,” Bucky interrupts him, finally lifting his head to look up at Steve. His eyes are clear with no terror of remembered missions nor the horrifying blankness that plagued the early stages of his rebuilding. “We saw fireworks. At Coney Island, for your birthday.”

 

Steve lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nods.

 

“We did. I fought with the guy runnin’ the shootin’ game, and you had to drag me away before I got socked in the face,” he supplies, grinning at the memory.

 

“We sat on the beach, and—“ Bucky stops to furrow his brow, trying to remember something. Something _important_ , something that’s been nagging in the back of his scarred mind for _weeks_ , something that seems to always crop up every time he looks at Steve—

 

“We kissed,” Bucky finally blurts out, and even though it’s probably incredibly improbable—super soldier and whatnot—Steve _swears_ his heart skips a beat at those words.

 

“We—yeah, we did. First time we ever did,” Steve reveals, a sad smile tugging on his lips.

 

“I was in love with you,” Bucky says in a quiet voice, and Steve’s heart drops to his stomach at the past tense. But then Bucky is looking up at him with pain in his eyes, and Steve knows that pain like the back of his hand because it’s the same look Bucky’s had since the day he met him whenever he knew something and didn’t want to say. It’s the same look that defined the months of remembering the lives he took and the people he tortured, and how every time, Steve would coax it out of him, telling him that holding it in would only hurt worse. Steve prays he can still read Bucky that well.

 

“I’m still in love with you,” he admits, and Bucky freezes. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s messed up, and he nearly begins to panic when he feels metal fingertips on his cheek and Bucky is looking at him like he’s some kind of treasure that he’s finally uncovered after years of digging.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asks, searching for answers in Steve’s eyes.

 

“I couldn’t… _risk_ sayin’ anything, Buck. Those first few months, I just wanted you back at all. My feelings weren’t important.”  


“Well, they are now,” Bucky replies in a firm voice. “God, you should’ve said something, Steve. I have been walkin’ around for _weeks_ thinkin’ about you, and do you have any idea how long I’ve had to think about this? Since the day I pulled you from that damn river, I knew you were important. I knew you were the most important thing to me, but after everything…”

 

He takes a deep breath and continues on.

 

“I still struggle with myself, every day. But the one thing I’ve _never_ second-guessed were my feelings for you. I was too afraid to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was coming from something put inside my head. It’s there and it’s real, and I can’t _believe_ you took this long to say something, you absolute _mook_.”

 

Steve lets out a laugh at the old-fashioned jab and puts his hand over the one Bucky rests on his cheek.

 

“What can I say? I guess you really didn’t take all the stupid with you.”

 

Bucky shakes his head and leans forward.

 

Steve meets him halfway.

 

And the fireworks spell out _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRAMPS!_ in the starry sky.


End file.
